


i'll be your sinner in secret

by derogatory



Category: KING OF PRISM by Pretty Rhythm (2016), プリティーリズム | Pretty Rhythm
Genre: Frottage, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:58:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9009388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derogatory/pseuds/derogatory
Summary: Hiro goes to Hollywood to visit Kouji





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warfare/gifts).



The long flight left Hiro's muscles aching as he followed Kouji through the apartment. 

"It's bigger than where we were in Tokyo," Kouji beams over his shoulder. Hiro manages a weak nod. He's too tired to come up with anything to say, following Kouji's tour from room to room, fist balled in the back of Kouji's shirt. His skin is warm when Hiro's knuckles brush against him. He's close and real and Hiro is too tired to know what to do with this. He had the whole flight to prepare, but now their reunion came too quickly; spotting Kouji waiting at the foot of the airport escalators.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" Kouji says cheerfully.

Kouji tucks Hiro's boneless body into his bed and shuts the door behind him. Immediately, Hiro struggles against the jetlag and separation. You had him and you let him go. That's the whole of their relationship, isn't it; Kouji's in his grasp and Hiro has to figure out how to make the first move. It shouldn't always have to be me, Hiro rages in muted, exhausted silence. He always had to take the first step: from the confession to the stupid, too fast kiss, to shoving his knee between Kouji's thighs. He always had to act first with the two of them, and there was something condescending about the way Kouji bended to his needs, or maybe it was sweet? It's been too long since they were together, Hiro has a tough time differentiating it.

He can hear Kouji shuffling around beyond the door, closer than he has been in months, and feels miserable.

Hiro leans over the side of the bed, too high off the ground, and fumbles through his bag. He extracts his phone and leans back against the pillows. He's halfway through a text demanding Kouji return to the bedroom and keep him company before he realizes he has no service in America. Hiro stares at the half written message, the light from the screen burning through the darkened room. If he wants to invite Kouji closer, into his own bed, he has to say it out loud. He's gotten used to texting it.

Hiro lets that thought linger in his head, absently scrolling through older messages with Kouji. Flight arrival information, excitement leading up to the date, planning the trip. His hands move absently, pushing the history farther and farther back, revealing several months of correspondence while an ocean divided them.

 _I wish you were here,_ one text from the summer says.

Hiro remembers getting it back in Tokyo as he brushed his teeth, having given up hoping for a text from Kouji that day. Obviously Kouji wasn't interested in maintaining this partnership abroad, because if he actually cared about Hiro he'd have sent a text by then. Never mind that it was early morning in America— who even knew what time zone he was in. America has six time zones, Kouji told him once. Hiro refuses to keep track of the difference.

Hiro remembers the sing of victory in his chest when Kouji's text arrived. See? Kouji wouldn't abandon you again, Kouji isn't the person you thought he was when he left Edel Rose. It's all in your head. Be reasonable, Hayami Hiro.

Hiro absently trails through the exchange that followed. He could be reasonable, but that didn't mean he shouldn't test Kouji too.

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:23 PM_  
**To: 神浜コウジ**  
what would you do if i was

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:24 PM_  
**To: 速水ヒロ**  
?

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:24 PM_  
**To: 神浜コウジ**  
what would you do i was there?  
id put my mouth on every inch of you

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:27 PM_  
**To: 速水ヒロ**  
???  
hiro

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:28 PM_  
**To: 神浜コウジ**  
id pull all your clothes off and pin you down  
push you facedown into the bed an finger you open  
does that feel good

 

Hiro turns onto his side. The bed smells like Kouji. He wraps that scent around himself like a blanket, warm in only his boxers. Kouji's shampoo smells the same on his pillow, he must have brought it from home. Hiro casts a glance at the bathroom, leisurely sliding a hand down the front of his shorts and stroking himself slowly.

 _What a dumb thing to do,_ Hiro thinks. _To bring shampoo from Japan, and leave me behind._

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:31 PM_  
**To: 速水ヒロ**  
it feels really good

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:31 PM_  
**To: 神浜コウジ**  
i miss you so much

 

He remembers the sobering lurch of his stomach when he sent that, needy and desperate, and the panic in the next texts to cover up his vulnerability.

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:32 PM_  
**To: 神浜コウジ**  
id fuck you until you screamed for it  
remember lastnew years  
you were so hot for it you cried an screamed and the neighbors heard you  
everybody heard how much you wanted it

 

 _Monday, Aug 15 11:38 PM_  
**To: 速水ヒロ**  
i remember  
you liked when i choked  
hiro was pretty loud too

 

It works just like it had when he first read those responses, Hiro imagining the velvet smoothness of Kouji's throat around him and coming hard into his own hand. Now it’s even more unsatisfactory than before, given the gentle sound of Kouji on the other side of the wall.

He fishes one of Kouji's socks from the floor, wipes himself clean and drifts into a thin layer of sleep.

 

 _Monday, Aug 16 4:07 PM_  
**To: 速水ヒロ**  
Do you want dinosaur omiyage from the La Brea tar pits?

  


* * *

  


Hiro rests his face on his hand, half-listening to Kouji describe the meal in front of them. Hiro woke up starving, but he knows better than to take a bite until Kouji's introduced his own cooking.

"I'm glad you like it," Kouji smiles when Hiro hurriedly digs into the food. He leans his weight back against the oven. "I don't get lots of chances to cook for people here."

"Their loss," Hiro says through a mouthful.

His heart twists and squirms under the tightness of his chest. For a second he can close his eyes and imagine they're home, that this is the dorms and Kouji is close enough to hold every day. Close enough to be annoyed by his speeches, his careful quiet, and the way his hair ties fall into the sink and clog the drain. But then Hiro takes another bite and although the food is good- it's always good- the ingredients here must be different. Small, subtle changes that remind him they'll never come home to each other again.

He eats, but the pit in his stomach doesn't feel any better.

"I don't like this," Kouji's laughs during a tense silence. "You're never this quiet." _Quiet,_ Hiro wants to snap. _Quiet like the hours you don't text me back? Quiet like when you use something as flimsy as time difference as an excuse for not being there when I need you?_ Hiro knows he's grown up a lot from when Kouji first left him, but he thought this would be easier, that he might be less selfish. Or at the very least that he could put this aside when they were in the same room.

Kouji sighs. "I know you miss me. I miss you too. But we're together now, right?" He reaches across the table and Hiro grabs his hand, holds it harder than he needs to. Or maybe just hard enough, to remind Kouji, to ground him before he leaves again.

  


* * *

  


Kouji drives aimlessly around town. There's the Hollywood sign and the Walk of Fame. No, he hasn't gone to either of them. I've been busy, Kouji says, like it's an excuse. Hiro wonders how busy Kouji can be; he's a genius after all. And American movies are always more about explosions and sex, how much work really goes into writing the background music? What a waste, Hiro mourns, looking at Kouji's profile against the streetlamps.

He's terrible at driving, and Hiro's nice enough to only point it out half a dozen times.

"People drive differently in America," Kouji says, looking at him from the corner of his eyes.

"I bet you drive bad in every country." Kouji laughs and Hiro wants, suddenly and desperately, for this to be like those stupid movies. To lay his head in Kouji's lap. Lie there and stare at this perfect Hollywood sky, lose himself in this movie star life Kouji's clawed for himself, away from Hiro.

They drive to the ocean, which Hiro immediately dislikes. It's the same one as in Japan, just another side to it. That's what he dislikes the most, that this is something he and Kouji share but it's too massive, too different for it to be a connection. It's a border between them, wider than the imposed distance Kouji forced with his selfishness years before. This one is real and tangible and, according to the nature documentaries, mostly unexplored.

Wind picks up over the sand and Kouji adjusts his scarf so it covers his chin, and half of his mouth. Even winter in California gets cold, his text had said. Be sure to bring a jacket. Hiro didn't, because that couldn't be true. So he's bundled up in one of Kouji's coats, made in foreign fabrics and covered in Kouji's warm scent. Hiro breathes in deep, like the real thing isn't an arm's reach away.

Kouji catches him staring and just stares back, calm and inviting. Hiro doesn't break the look and they stand in the parking lot near the risk for long, frigid moments, taking in the sight of each other somewhere foreign.

"So quiet," Kouji teases again and leads Hiro towards the water.

They walk up and down the pier and Kouji tries to hold his hand. "Nobody knows you here." he reminds Hiro gently when the other boy pulls away, eyes wide. "You're not an idol here." And Hiro can't figure out if that's a comfort or a threat. All at once he wants to push Kouji over the railing. _No, we won't go swimming,_ Kouji had said with a string of w's. _The water is cold. I told you California is cold in the winter! Don't bring your swimsuit._ It's crumpled up in a corner of Hiro's suitcase.

Hiro wants to push him into those cold, crashing waves, or maybe just push him to the railing and shove his tongue down Kouji's throat. He doesn't do either, but he holds Kouji's hand.

  


* * *

  


"Text Kazuki back, he’s worried your plane crashed into the ocean."

Hiro looks up. He's lying half-on, half-off the couch, legs flung over an armrest. His head rests along the cushions, as dangerously close to resting in Kouji's lap as he'll allow. They're watching the first of a movie series that Kouji will take over writing the soundtrack for. Kouji recommends it so Hiro isn't lost when he watches the movie Kouji works on. Hiro had begrudgingly agreed. He doesn't like the implication that Hiro will, of course, watch every movie Kouji does the music for. He's busy too, you know. Kouji nods absently, pushes play. They get a couple scenes in, but its actors talk too fast and Hiro loses track of what's happening.

"He's worried," Kouji adds. His hand is close enough to go through Hiro's hair. He hasn't done it yet. Maybe he doesn't know how to breach this distance either.

"Why would I want to talk to somebody else when I'm here?" He almost forgot the expression Kouji wears when Hiro says something openly possessive. That face, the tiny ‘Oh' of surprise with his perfect mouth. A thrum of victory lances through Hiro. You forgot you were mine, didn't you? I'll remind you.

He doesn't. He lies like a hole in the road in the space between them while Kouji taps out a reply on his phone.

"Shin misses you," Hiro says, flat and inexplicable.

Kouji pauses mid word, glances down at him.

"Just Shin?" His mouth quirking up at the corners.

 _Tell him Kazuki wants to quit,_ a mean voice eggs on from the edge of Hiro's thoughts. _The school's too bankrupt for your American money to do us all any good. We are crashing to a miserable end of our idol careers and you're here being ‘busy' doing who knows what, probably trying to learn how to surf. If you care about any of us, about me, you'll come home and wait out the inevitable with your real family. You'll look at the wave that's approaching Over the Rainbow and hold tight when it hits us instead of running away, pretending like you're doing anybody but yourself a favor._

A nicer voice, or maybe a crueler one suggests: _I miss you too._

Hiro directs his attention back to the television. He wonders if Kouji will meet any of these actors. The women are all too ugly. "Yep. Just Shin."

  


* * *

  


The next night Kouji takes him to a casting party. They arrive at a large, meandering one story house set high into the hills, with attractive people talking loud unintelligible English and the alcohol flowing freely. Hiro's even pretty sure he sees people swimming naked in the dimly lit pool. It's overt hedonism in Western packaging and again Hiro clenches a fist in the back of Kouji's shirt to keep him from wandering away. He's not sure what he expected from Kouji's American life. Not the quiet, intimate birthday parties they held at the school, but not this either. All Kouji did was write the score for this movie, does he really fit in with a crowd like this?

Kouji introduces him to an endless stream of producers and foreigners while Hiro shoots dangerous eyes at them. They better appreciate how much of a genius Kouji is. This movie had better make enough money for Kouji to come home soon.

He cringes while he drinks; American beer is disgusting. He drinks more.

"What do you think?" Kouji asks and has to repeat it twice before Hiro hears him, and the music's too loud for Kouji to hear the reply. Whatever, he's not going to shout to keep his attention. This party is something out of bad movie and never in a million years would Hiro have assumed this was the sort of life Kouji left them for. He feels small around these long limbed production artists. His English isn't good enough to explain Prism Shows, yes, like ice skating, but there's more to it than that. There's no nuance in the English language, and he can't be sure Kouji explains it properly, gliding from one conversation to another.

A man talking to Kouji leans in close, hiding his face from view. In the half-light Hiro watches the man take a lock of Kouji's hair between a finger and his thumb. Hiro's ears ring with the voice of Norizuki Jin, murmuring that this is normal in the industry, this will make them more appealing. Hiro bent to Jin's weight over him, and when his own body reacted it was less because of the hands on him and more for Kouji's stare across the bedroom.

"Watch carefully," Jin had instructed. It would be a show for Kouji's benefit. Hiro could have just closed his eyes and imagined he was someplace else. Maybe the park where Jin had seen him, dancing because it was the only place where it wouldn't disturb the neighbors. Or maybe he'd been dancing just to keep warm, to keep an unhappy mind occupied. Hiro could have grounded himself in that memory. But it would be cheating somehow, because Kouji had to watch, had to learn, and they were a team.

Maybe there are still things I need to learn too, Hiro had thought while Jin mapped the lines over his body, his property.

Kouji's hands sat his lap, white knuckled and motionless. He was supposed to be watching them, but Hiro knew that look. Kouji wasn't really watching, he stared straight through them, like he was looking at a wall instead of watching how Hiro's body arched from the bed. While Jin's hands stroked, he said things that were probably supposed to be comforting. Jin wasn't focused on the audience, only the boy beneath him. Hiro had felt irritation coil low in his stomach where arousal should have been. He wasn't even mad at Jin, because what had any of them expected? If his mother taught him anything, it was that nobody did anything nice for someone without having a reason for it. This had probably been Jin's reason for taking them in all along; if Pride made them any money that would just be a bonus.

No, he was angry with Kouji. Who did he think he was with that passive stare, like he wasn't really invested in this?

Look here, Hiro had thought. He turned his body in ways he thought looked good, raised his voice to a pitch he hoped sounded appealing. His hands had scrambled against Jin's back while he clawed for Kouji's attention. Fingers pressed inside, hard and sudden and Hiro had tried to choke down a hiss of pain, imagine they were Kouji's.

 _Kouji. Pay attention to what he's doing to me. Don't block this out, get angry._ He knew Kouji must have hated that. Hiro wanted Kouji for himself, so of course Kouji wanted Hiro to only be his, too. And if he hated what Jin was doing, maybe he'd stop it. Or maybe- and with a frightening sharp feeling in his gut that Hiro hoped for this more than anything else- Kouji would hate this show so much that he'd cross the room, that divide that seemed insurmountable until he put a body of water between them, and join Hiro and Jin. Hiro imagined how Kouji's body might feel if it was the one inside him instead of Jin's, pulsing hot and deep. At that thought, Hiro had made himself louder, more demanding, and Kouji shifted anxiously under the onslaught of the lesson, but never moved closer.

Hiro blinks back to the present, and elbows his way between Kouji and this outsider.

Kouji says goodbye to the man, turns his attention to Hiro's intrusion. Somehow Hiro wonders if Kouji had been remembering that night too.

"Having fun?" Kouji asks blithely. He reaches out and brushes Hiro's bangs off his forehead. "People here are nice." It only sharpens the sting of it. The burn in Hiro's throat of anger and wanting and not knowing how to pull them together. _I could kiss him now,_ he thinks. _But he'd taste the awful beer on my breath._

"I hate it," Hiro says and it sounded more threatening in his head. It’s declawed under the thrum of the music, the loud indecipherable shouting. "Let's go home." And he means Japan, not the apartment that's too large for just Kouji.

Kouji laughs, tosses his head in an exasperated sort of way. "In a little while," he concedes and forces Hiro to take endless turns around the room. Hiro's dizzy with it, the impossible conversions, the strangers putting hands on Kouji. Americans are friendly like that, Kouji assures him, but Hiro knows better. He knows everyone wants a piece of Kouji and for a time he was only Hiro's, but maybe that's over? Hiro drinks innumerable shitty beers, his steps less even as they follow Kouji's.

He should've brought me here, he realizes in sobering clarity. He needs me here to protect him. His nerves raise. Kouji should've asked. Asked and Hiro would have gone with him to this country, given up being an idol to be there to watch out for him, to stand between Kouji and these strangers, to keep him in one place. That way Hiro would know everyone who talks to Kouji, every experience he has. He could map out Kouji's entire life with himself at the center.

 _You could have asked and then we'd never have any separation between us, but you didn't. You decided without me that being an idol was more important than being together._ Hiro disagrees, or he thinks he does, watching Kouji turn towards someone else.

  


* * *

  


Sunlight casts the early afternoon across the room in long, easy shadows. Hiro wakes up in small, incremental moments, his head heavy with alcohol. He's not entirely sure how they got home and double checks that Kouji came with him. It would be just Hiro's luck to lose Kouji in America, even if he spent as much of the night that he can remember clutching Kouji close to him, cutting short any conversation with an outsider. Hiro blearily peers over the edge of the couch. Kouji lies curled up with a blanket on the floor, hand by his face. Last night comes back to Hiro in pieces; the cab ride home, collapsing on the sofa. He had told Kouji he didn't want to sleep alone. So Kouji set up a bed on the floor and the two of them fell asleep mid-conversation.

Hiro recalls the big lonely bed in the other room, reaches down and runs his hand over Kouji's hair. They're both idiots.

Kouji stirs under his touch, waking up quick. There’s a momentary flare of guilt, but it goes out as quick as a candle when Kouji's eyes hit him. He smiles in a familiar way, curling a lip between his teeth.

"How do you feel?" he asks, squinting against the sun.

"Awful," Hiro lies, because the truth is his hangover's not so bad when he's looking at Kouji's contented, sleep-laden face.

Kouji rolls his eyes and sits up, tugging at the ponytail that was pulled loose in his sleep. He gathers his hair into a neater knot and his shirt dips to the side, collar slipping down to reveal a slim shoulder. He's tired, but he looks aware of how Hiro watches him.

Hiro shifts forward on the couch and Kouji moves towards him. He kneels between Hiro's legs and one hand rests at the start of Hiro's thigh. The muscles tense under Kouji’s fingers. It seems like he's breathing very loud.

Kouji lifts his face like it's the first note of a song and Hiro leans towards it. There's an undeniable pull between them, since the day they met and Hiro is sick with it. Sick with wanting to kiss Kouji and waiting, hoping he wouldn’t have to be the one to make the first move. That's what this is, isn't it? Hiro muses, longing turning his heart into a stone in his chest. Kouji making the first move and not for something stupid, like quitting Edel Rose or moving to America.

Hiro reaches out fast and pulls Kouji the rest of the way up, mouth crashing hungrily to his. Their teeth clink together and it's awkward and stupid, how much they're still kids sneaking kisses around the music room. His kissing skills must've improved since then; Hiro knows Kouji's has, from the way he takes Hiro's lip between his teeth. He hums and sighs against Hiro's mouth and Hiro wraps his arms around Kouji, over that bare shoulder.

Exhaustion slakes off Hiro in waves as Kouji's hands drift under his shirt, glancing over his skin. Hiro turns his head to the side, and buries it in Kouji's soft neck, breathes in deep. They're reacquainting themselves. It feels like it’s been decades since Kouji had hands on him beyond the shy hand holding they shared at the pier. They might have kissed in the cab last night, or maybe Hiro dreamed it. Maybe this is still a dream and he'll wake up in Tokyo, alone, with a failing school and faster failing friends as the only things to comfort him.

Hiro pushes that thought to the farthest corner of his mind. It doesn't matter now, now when their bodies meet together in thick, heady motions. Hiro presses back into the kiss, like they can hardly stop kissing now that it's started. What a waste the past few days have been, sightseeing and driving around. They should've been here, in this moment, picking up exactly where they left off.

Kouji's hand sinks lower to Hiro's boxers, fumbling to pull out his cock, already half hard. His hair is falling out of his ponytail again and Kouji tucks it back almost nervously, lashes low, mouth drifting low. Hiro shifts nervously back against the couch and parts his legs further. He looks anywhere else in the apartment than looking what's about to happen straight on. The vents in the wall where the heat kicked on a few minutes ago. It gets cold in California. He shivers as Kouji's lips tentatively close around the head of his dick. It’s unbearably warm, and Hiro hisses out the breath he didn't know he was holding in one thin exhale. Kouji's mouth is a slick heat that wraps around him in painfully slow laps of his tongue, coaxing his head forward and guiding Hiro to the back of his throat. Hiro brings the back of his hand to his mouth but it's not enough to stop the spew of short, panicked gasps.

He tried to look someplace else, hoping that would make this last longer. But it's been months with only his hand and within seconds Hiro is pushing at Kouji's shoulder, mumbling— _wait, no, hold on_ — before it's over. Kouji lifts his eyes and swallows as if it's an easy key change, a dance move he's hit a hundred times. He smiles with overly red lips and Hiro feels himself twitch in his lap.

He catches Kouji with a fist half in his ponytail, half in the neck of his shirt. Kouji goes up, pliant and willing, sprawled over Hiro's lap while they kiss. Slowly at first, Hiro's mind a haze from Kouji in his lap and on his cock and making these soft purring noises against his mouth. Intensity grows in the pit of his stomach at Kouji, as easy as a song, put his mouth on him and Hiro gave the most embarrassing show of his life (and yes, he's counting the time he tripped during a performance of Pride).

Fingers digging into every scrap of Kouji within reach, Hiro forces them up, onto uncertain legs. In an uncoordinated flush of movement— kicking out of his boxers, tearing off his shirt and Kouji still fully clothed— Hiro marches them towards the bedroom. He stops short; what makes Kouji think he earned something as comfortable as being fucked in his own bed? Hiro shoves him against the wall. Kouji makes a muffled sound of protest into the kiss, but it's all show. His arms sling comfortably over Hiro's shoulders, tongue in Hiro’s mouth. He's not being forced anywhere, Kouji's always been exactly where he wants to be and Hiro's only lucky enough to be taken along when it's convenient.

Hiro breaks off with a growl at that unpleasant thought, dropping his mouth to suck hard angry marks into Kouji's neck. They weren't allowed to do this when they were idols, but it's like Kouji says: no one knows them here. He can leave as many marks on Kouji's body claiming it for his own and there's nothing Kouji can do to stop him. Kouji can leave ones in return and Hiro aches imagining it, landing at Narita with bite marks hidden under his clothes. Hiro lets his teeth sink in harder. He'll leave marks for those men at the party, who thought Kouji was an easy target to put their hands on. If Hiro didn't give him up for Jin, he's sure as hell not giving him up to some foreign bro who wears sunglasses indoors.

Hiro drops hard to his knees. He steadies himself with a hand on Kouji's hip, then harder, pinning him to the wall. He doesn't risk looking up at Kouji, he already knows what look Kouji will wear as Hiro tugs at his pants. A look like Kouji hasn't spent the last few months in furious, aimless frustration. Hiro doesn't need to see that, he's imagined it enough times before bed, fist around his cock. There's a litany of things he wants to do to Kouji to make him pay for leaving and only a couple days left in his visit to achieve it.

Kouji exhales sharply, like he hadn't been expecting to be undressed from the waist down, and Hiro's mouth draws a dark bruise on a newly exposed thigh. Kouji arches back from the wall, his dick already red and wet and close enough Hiro can breathe on it but not touch yet. He can get Kouji riled up first. Hiro plans on making his own lightning quick reactions look like a marathon performance compared to how fast he'll make Kouji come.

Kouji's legs tremble as Hiro rakes his hands over his thighs. These types of marks were okay, marks of ownership in places that couldn't be seen from stage. Kouji used to scold him for it- what if we have to wear shorts? Hiro would argue that no one can notice that under the stockings, they wouldn't skate with bare legs. But these things aren't concerns any more. It's a small consolation to losing Kouji to Hollywood, and Hiro's fingers pinch and pull at every bit of skin they touch. Kouji whines and there's a soft thud, probably from his head hitting the wall.

"Hiro," he pants, and Hiro's not sure either of them have the stamina for a marathon performance, not with how hard he is again just from hearing Kouji say his name. Kouji starts to say something else but Hiro cuts him off, taking him into his mouth in a swift motion. He squirms while Hiro closes his lips and draws back before bobbing forward. Before long, the tip of it hits the back of his throat and Kouji whimpers. This is something Hiro's always been better at; Kouji doesn't have the same need to please that he does. Hiro thinks that'd be something to be proud of it it didn't sound so desperate. Desperate like the noises Kouji makes when he moves his dick as it works down Hiro's throat.

A hand slides almost sheepishly into Hiro's hair. Hiro doesn't break his stride and reaches up to grab it, to hold it there holding him. Kouji tenses under his grip before he takes the hint, his fist closing around Hiro's bangs, pulling roughly until he moans around his dick. Kouji was always good at taking notes.

He should bring Kouji back to Japan and keep him just for himself. He'd quit singing and keep Kouji's body in these in between moments, weak and babbling. And even though Hiro knows that would be impossible and knows he needs the money, every second without Kouji feels like the nights where he went to bed hungry.

Kouji comes with a shout, hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the noise. Hiro swallows him around him and shivers. He missed this taste.

With some stumbling and laughing while Kouji steps out of his pants, he guides him to the bedroom. When Kouji lies down, Hiro hurriedly climbs into the bed after him, straddling him and delighting in the way Kouji indulgently ruts against the contact. He smiles, spread out languid and pleased over the sheets. Invitingly. Hiro leers at the sight, before pulling away, hauling Kouji's hips up. The body under his is all lovely lines and he doesn't wince, always flexible. Kouji gives a soft showmanship gasp when Hiro touches him, traces the tight muscle with his fingers.

He ought to tie him to the bed and never let him leave.

“Top drawer,” Kouji hisses, arching under the touch. When Hiro ruefully moves away to retrieve the lube from a nearby drawer, his blood runs hot. The bottle is half empty.

 _Who is it?_ He makes sure his eyes, the tight grip on Kouji's wrists, ask. _Who are you letting fuck you?_

_No one, _Kouji's eyes says benevolently, falsely. With a dancer's grace, he rests his leg over Hiro's shoulder, drawing him close with a bend of his knee. He's staring at Hiro with very wide eyes. "I don't need anybody but you." It's as honest and simple as if it was the truth.__

__Hiro clamps his hands at Kouji's waist, pulling him to the edge of the bed. Turns him onto his stomach, palm flat over his spine while he works him open. He'll fuck the memory of anyone else out of Kouji, rewrite everyone elses' touches over this body. It's unacceptable, the selfish ways Kouji's been behaving in America. He lets other people screw him but he won't let Hiro hear any of his new songs ("It's a breach of contract.") _Don't treat me like I'm some stranger, like those agreements mean anything between us,_ Hiro thinks, and every pound of his hips drags music from Kouji, head tossed back, body singing.  
_ _

  


* * *

  


Sometime in their sleep, Hiro threw an arm over Kouji's chest.

There was a time that would've been enough to keep him in place.

  


* * *

  


Kouji woke up first; Hiro can sense it in the way he's breathing. He blinks sleep from his eyes, still too jetlagged to know time, but the sun is higher now and the room is better lit. He yawns into sated awareness that an arm is over his shoulders, his face tucked against Kouji's chest. Kouji's heartbeat is steady and intimately close and the corner of Hiro’s eyes prickle. He forces himself not to look up at Kouji, like the sight of him will push Hiro over the edge again.

His eyes sweep Kouji's room; sparsely decorated- good, because if Kouji made this place into a home then it would mean he had no real intention of coming back to Japan. The apartment ought to be an empty box where Kouji can't have any memories inside it without Hiro. A place to eat and sleep while he serves out his self-imposed exile for the school's benefit.

In the emptiness of the bedroom, Kouji's guitar stands out.

"You brought it," Hiro says and immediately his face goes pink.

“I did.” Kouji's gracious as always and doesn't comment on the watery quality to Hiro's voice. "But it wasn't easy." 

Hiro tilts his face up to watch while Kouji explains that taking a guitar on an airplane is complicated, there are always risks of it getting damaged if you're not careful. Hiro only half listens, you have to slacken the strings, buy a humidifier, something about vitamins. He closes his eyes and imagines they're back in the dorms.

  


* * *

  


They round off the end of the trip with a visit to Disneyland. Hiro didn't ask to go; after all it's the same park they have in Tokyo.

"Who cares," he grouses on the drive over. There are better things for them to do than this tourist junk. He reaches for the driver's seat, plunges a hand between Kouji's legs.

"I haven't gone yet." Kouji says with a sharp stare, the kind he gave Hiro just before he rose to a challenge. The kind of look that has a note at the tip of his tongue, that shows Kouji's prepared going toe to toe with Hiro and claw out his own victory. "Maybe after."

Hiro concedes, but when their stay at the park is done, he _demands_ they fuck in the bathrooms by the parking lot. It will be his payment for a long day. A day full of holding hands with Kouji in every line, of watching Kouji's slow, dawning excitement at every princess and costume character that turns a corner. At the top of The Tower of Terror, Hiro is white knuckling the armrests in the back row when Kouji leans over and nips the junction of skin where his jaw meets his neck. He hopes when the ride's drop kicked in, his head went back with enough recoil to chip Kouji's tooth.

"You deserved that," Hiro laughs despite himself as they walk off the ride, tense with adrenaline.

Kouji's rubbing his jaw appraisingly, manages a small grin. "We deserve each other," and Hiro thinks that's enough theme parks for the day.

  


* * *

  


Bags of souvenirs go scattering across the tiled floor as Kouji backs Hiro to the wall, legs bent at an awkward angle over the toilet. Hiro's tongue is in Kouji's mouth, but his nerves catch up to them in a flash, imagining the sheer amount of daily foot traffic these bathrooms must get. There are a lot of kids too, talking in high, nonsensical English and even if they can't see anything, this has got to be illegal. A sex scandal isn't exactly what the school needs now, and Hiro would never survive in an American jail. This was a terrible idea.

"Wait," he whispers between kisses, Kouji's hands shoved under his shirt. "Ah, Kouji, let's—" Again he silences Hiro with a look, low lidded and bold.

There's no mercy in it, the relentless scope of Kouji's body on his. Their clothes stay on- the stalls are big, but certainly not big enough for what Hiro had demanded earlier. Teeth latch onto Hiro’s neck and he’s too dizzy to argue anymore, to point out it would be a _really_ bad idea to come back from abroad with visible hickeys. But he can't summon the energy to do anything but clutch at Kouji and hang on through riding the crest of what's about to happen.

Kouji ruts against him until Hiro stutters against the lines of the insistent knee between his legs. Kouji no longer has the vacant stare he wore when Jin had fucked Hiro years ago. Kouji sees him and sees himself in Hiro’s watching, flushed and thrilled with the show between them. He's nothing if not a driven performer.

Hiro muffles a cry into Kouji's shoulder and sags against him, tiled wall cold against his back. It hits him in one giant wave; the orgasm and then the reality of what's waiting for them. He'll have to walk back to the car with this mess in his pants. That pales to the indignity that waits for him tomorrow; when Hiro will go to the airport and say goodbye to Kouji all over again.

"Come back with me," Hiro mumbles, arms slung around his shoulders. "You said it, didn't you? You don't need anybody but me." In his haze, the words sound stupid and childish. All of Hiro's grappling to keep Kouji close, to keep him only for Hiro, seem hollow now.

"That's right." Kouji kisses the pulse point along Hiro's throat. Hiro digs inside himself for anger, something to couch this numbing sadness that threatens them. He wrestles away and grinds his palm into the front of Kouji's pants, drinking up the gasps. Neither of them can hold to it, but he works Kouji up until he promises in a flurry of words; Promise you'll come back with me and I'll let you come. Kouji laughs through a sob and nods, yes, anything. Hiro's heart pounds with it, regaining control of Kouji for just a second, even if it's just pretend.


End file.
